Sacrifice
by Miss Skeeter
Summary: “Remember Draco, we are Malfoys. We do not associate with inferiors. We have authority, money, and power. Take great care not to tarnish our family name. Power is everything.” DG
1. Fresh Perspectives

****

Summary: Their innocence. Their blood. Their lives. The war did not spare any. It changed their outlook toward life and others and helped them find courage in their hearts. D/G

Disclaimer: I don't own anything…except the PLOT!

Sacrifice

Miss Skeeter

Chapter One

Fresh Perspectives

"Remember Draco, we are Malfoys. We do not associate with inferiors. We have authority, money, and power_. Take great care not to tarnish our family name. Power is everything." Lucius's eyes gleamed wildly. "_Everything_. Let no one stand in your way of it…especially those Muggle-loving fools."_

He stumbled into the silent hospital wing, his drenched silver hair plastered on his flushed face. His raw cheeks stung from the harsh winter bite, glistening with the icy rain. His black robes dripped with mud and splattered on the marble floor, and his tattered cloak hung from his broad shoulders dejectedly, flapping at his legs. A deep gash mauled the side of his head, a streak of dried blood running from his temple to his defiant chin. His fingers gripped his wand tightly as he sat himself on a bed. His muscles ached with exhaustion as the plump nurse tittered around him.

A sharp hiss escaped his gritted teeth as potion seeped into his wound. His fingers examined his skin, running over the cut. He winced. She tapped her wand on the slash, a tingling sensation flooding through his veins as the skin mended before his eyes, leaving a pale scar on his head.

"A battle scar," Crabbe said awed, his pudgy finger grazing Draco's skin.

"_Shut _up, Crabbe," he muttered irritably. Steam shot out of his ears from the Pepperup Potion the insufferable Madam Pomfrey shoved into his mouth, though the potion _had _regained much of his vigor. He self-consciously ran a hand on his temple, flinching at the bumpy scar.

"Why did you fight?" Goyle chortled. "It doesn't matter to _you_." He eyed Draco oddly, wolfing down on a fat chocolate cake noisily.

"Because," Draco said slowly, contemplating the answer, "I…I suppose I wanted to spite my father for tainting the family name. We don't receive the respect we deserve…we're treated like--like _scum_." He stressed the word, fury quaking in his voice. He glanced up to scrutinize his bodyguards' answers. They shrugged stupidly, mouths hanging open in bewilderment.

Draco shook his head. He sometimes wondered why he chose Crabbe and Goyle as…_somewhat _friends. They were rather dense, always guzzling several handfuls of food nicked from the kitchens or rather strange places. He noted the tale of the resting chocolate cakes on the banisters that made the two rather drowsy in their second year. They awoke piled in a dark broom closet with no shoes.

"…Dinner?" Crabbe grunted helpfully, his squinted eyes glancing at the clock on the wall. He stared expectantly at Draco.

"Sure, why _not_?" he mumbled sardonically. "Come on, boys." He jumped to his feet, puffs of smoke slipping out of his ears. He rolled his eyes as he sauntered through the dungeons, his feet carrying him to the crowded Great Hall. The usual laughter and talk was subdued, replaced with gloomy faces.

A few murmurs filled his ears as he strolled by to the Slytherin table. He searched for Potter, the _hero _of the battle. He frowned at him as rains of praise showered down on him from his fellow Gryffindors. Several girls from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff alike sighed dreamily, fluttering their eyelashes at him. He bent over his food nonetheless, the fame reaching into his already large head.

"_Perfect _Potter," he sneered to Parkinson as sat down in his reserved seat with Crabbe and Goyle at either side.

"Oh, Drakie!" she squealed, her pug-like face staring at the scar. "What happened to your face?" His face darkened as the dreaded nickname slipped from her large mouth.

Her shrill chattering pounded in his ear as he turned his head, eyes sweeping the room. He spotted the youngest Weasel contently beside Potter, staring grimly at her ranting brother. Draco studied her carefully, drinking in every detail of her. Her fiery locks curled into a messy bun piled on the top of her head, threatening to topple. A few loose strands fell onto her porcelain face specked with freckles and mottled with bags beneath her eyes. Unlike her older siblings, she inherited rather pleasing charm.

"_Draco_!" He tore his mesmerized eyes away from the Weasley, blinking at a pouting Pansy. "Were you listening, Drakiepoo?"

"I'm tired," he stated stonily. _We do not associate with inferiors. _His father's cold voice rang in his ears hauntingly, causing shivers to run down his back. "Can't we talk _tomorrow_, Pansy?" Parkinson nodded, her pale eyes wide with bafflement. Draco poked at his treacle pudding scornfully.

"I can't believe they serve us this shit," he declared. "But Mudbloods can't taste the difference between food and dirt." Crabbe froze, chewing hurriedly on a mouthful of treacle. Draco snorted and shook his head as he nibbled at his roll glistening with butter. He nodded with approval, chewing daintily with his lips firmly pressed together. His eyes itched to roam toward the Gryffindor table once again, though he struggled to glue them to his golden plate.

A clink tinkled through the Hall, muffling the muttered gossip. Draco eyed the eccentric Headmaster critically. Dumbledore grimly addressed them, his thin, bony fingers intertwining easily. His blue eyes twinkled as they examined the sea of faces peering up at him with interest.

"Today…Death Eaters attacked the castle," he began, his voice echoing in the silence. "There were no deaths, but a few deadly injuries. I thank the sixth and seventh years who assisted." He paused. "I have established a…an army, if you'd like to call it. Dumbledore's Army." Draco watched him carefully as Dumbledore smiled at Potter and his followers with disdain.

"If any sixth or seventh years wish, they may volunteer. The army will protect the school when in harm…but they will need training. That is why I shall appoint two commanders for the troops. Harry Potter and--" An uproar of cheers exploded at the Gryffindor table, a rain of hands slapping Potter's back appreciatively. Draco frowned in disgust, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner.

The Headmaster waited patiently as the chatter died down. "And Draco Malfoy."

Eyes burned through him and a sweep of mumbles erupted in the Hall immediately. A few stood to examine him closely. Draco flushed, waves of shock crashing down upon him. His gray eyes glared questioningly at Dumbledore. "Everyone knows Malfoy is a Death Eater!" a voice carried over to the Slytherin table. A group grumbled in approval. "Look at his father. Everyone knows the Malfoys are going to the dogs."

Draco fumed, his anger building at his father. The man he listened to…the man who ruined their family name…and lost their fortune. "Who said I was my father?" he replied in a loud, carrying tone, his eyes twinkling challengingly. A hushed silence followed his defiant words, a few averting his eyes fearfully.

"Thank you," Dumbledore finished, his lips tugging into a smile. "You may leave for a good night's sleep." He waved his hand quickly, the newly cleaned plates glistening, devoid of a crumb of food.

Draco pushed himself out of his seat with Crabbe and Goyle, keen on the prospect of curling in his bed. _Power is everything. _He tailed the crowd, his eyes swimming about, catching a mane of flaming curls gleaming in the light. Her brown eyes stared baldly at him, hatred written across her porcelain face.

Beneath his hard façade, a surge of _hurt _flowed through his veins as he gaped at the vicious glare from the Weasel. He pushed the abrupt emotion away, hiding it underneath his tough demeanor. Why should he care what a Muggle-loving Weasley thought of him? He hated them, and they loathed him in return. And yet…he couldn't help but think of how attractive the youngest really was.

Students jostled past him as he slowly made his way to the dungeons. "I can't believe Malfoy is a commander with you, mate. We know he's following his daddy's footsteps." Draco glared at Ron Weasley who was at Potter's heels.

"Wish it was you, Weasel?" he called scathingly. "We all know sidekicks don't cut it. And Dumbledore isn't paying either so don't be too disappointed." Weasley narrowed his eyes, his ears turning an unsightly shade of red. A thin concealment of his temper was evident as he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Draco smiled with satisfaction. "Come on, Crabbe. Goyle." He whirled around, his feet clicking against the marble floor.

"Stop trying to be so big, Malfoy. You're lower than dirt," she said harshly behind his back. He tilted his head to Ginny, masking his upset with a scowl. As he slipped down into the dungeons, he glanced over his shoulder to stare at her glowering eyes. Those wide, brown ones…

"Move it, Commander Malfoy," Blaise Zabini said cheerfully. "You're blocking the way. You can stare at your girlfriend." His eyes glittered with amusement as they studied Draco, sliding up and down.

"Sorry, Zabini," Draco replied with a mock sneer, elbowing past Crabbe to sidle beside Blaise. A slight blush crept to his cheeks. "She _isn't _my girlfriend."

"I'm joining Dumbly's Army," he continued, eyes sparkling with excitement. "I fought today…Stunned a good few Death Eaters." He puffed out his chest proudly. "And no scratch." His smile faltered as his eyes fell on the scar. "Nice battle scar." He whistled appreciatively, jabbing his thumb at Draco's temple.

"Rock," Draco grunted, his hand running down his face. "Physical combat with a Death Eater, you know. I disarmed him first." He frowned. "My face is ruined." Zabini shrugged carelessly.

"Look," Blaise said with a grin, "that scar will go away."

"Potter's hasn't," Draco said dryly. Blaise laughed as he fed the stone wall the password. They climbed into the common room with his chuckle echoing off the walls. "What? It's true."

"Potter is a different case," he explained patiently. "You-Know-Who didn't curse you, did he? A rock just smashed into your head. It'll go away with time."

"When I _die_, maybe." Draco plopped down into a hard chair, leaning against its rigid back with content. Blaise followed the suit, his eyes fixed on the crackling fire in the hearth. "Well, time to get scarred again. Don't know why Dumbledore appointed me. Why not Potter's followers? Creevey, perhaps? Better than a Slytherin…"

Blaise leaned over, his face inching closer to Draco's. "Malfoy," he said in a hard tone, unlike his joking manner. "Why did you fight in the battle anyway? I'm sorry to say, but it's unlike you to get involved in anything out of your hands." His hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. "So? What's the answer?"

"Look, I don't need to tell you, Zabini," Draco said roughly. "But…I will." He sighed. "My father told me not to stain our family name…when I was eleven, in fact. He grabbed me in the corridor and asked me for a word. Two years ago, he was arrested in Azkaban. They knew he was a Death Eater…and that was when it happened. Our money slipped from our hands and our name…no one respected us as Malfoys. Only as…only as…" He trailed off, burying his emotions deep underneath the layers of his skin. He smiled darkly.

Blaise blinked, the words sinking into his mind. Anger seeped through him as he regarded Draco roughly. "You're doing it…for you?"

"Yes," Draco said shrugging. "To spite my father. I have no need to command any army. Dumbledore can find someone else or something."

"God, _Malfoy_! There are more important things than you! Like lives that are taken away each day with You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters on the loose! And you just want to irritate your father? Screw him!" Blaise jumped out of his chair as though it was on fire. He glared at Draco. "Grow up and stop being so selfish." He fumed off, his feet pounding on the staircase as he hurried to his dormitory.

Draco stared after him furiously. What did he know? _He _was the selfish one. "Stupid Zabini," he growled, casting his gray eyes on the fire.


	2. Fiery Inferiors

****

Summary: Their innocence. Their blood. Their lives. The war did not spare any. It changed their outlook toward life and others and helped them find courage in their hearts. D/G

Disclaimer: I don't own anything…except the PLOT!

Sacrifice

Miss Skeeter

Chapter Two

Fiery Inferiors

His fingers slipped off the fork, a clatter piercing the unnatural quiet. His tongue stuck to his throat, and he gulped down a cold slosh of milk from his goblet. Draco glanced about the Great Hall, straining to hear the whispers and dull mutters from the tables. A few Hufflepuff boys stole a dark look at him, mistrust clearly evident on their faces. He shrugged it off carelessly, poking at an egg. Blaise lifted his head from his own plate, his eyes burning holes through Draco, a deep frown tugging at his lips.

Pansy Parkinson babbled on in his ear, smacking on her bacon eagerly. Draco glowered at Zabini coldly as he stabbed a piece of bacon violently. Blaise lowered his gaze, his ears red with fury. His mouth formed incoherent words, and he quickly washed down his egg with pumpkin juice.

"Malfoy, why don't you get off your bloody arse?" a voice demanded. He tilted his head upward, gawking at the lingering pair of brown eyes.

"Got some language on you, eh, Weasley?" Draco said, a delightful smile threatening to break through his sneer.

Her fiery red curls cascaded down her shoulders in waves, and her large, glittering chocolate eyes studied him with loathing. He jumped to his feet, towering her petite body. She defiantly glared up, her delicate hands on her hips. Draco fought the sudden urge to brush his fingers against her freckled nose and her porcelain cheeks.

"Screw off," Ginny snapped angrily. "Dumbledore wants you…army business."

"Are you joining?" Draco asked eagerly. She blinked at him in surprise but she regained her composure immediately.

"Yes," she replied stiffly. "I am. What does it matter to you? Hoping to train me to exhaustion?" Draco snorted as he glanced up at the head table, catching a glimpse of a mop of dark hedgehog hair.

"Highly unlikely, Weasel," he replied smoothly. "Well, why didn't Potter get me himself?" He brushed down his robes.

"Harry asked me," Weasley explained with impatience. "What is this? An interview? Malfoy, you better get up there soon."

A rush of jealousy smacked him in the face. "Potter? What are you his _girlfriend_? Or is he too afraid to declare his love for you in the moonlight? Or did he serenade you last night and give you a _promise _ring?" To his surprise, Ginny raised her eyebrow unblushingly. She merely smiled blandly and casually stuck her hands into her pockets.

"Nope," was all that came out of her full lips. She looked up at him forcing a smirk on her face, though a bite of annoyance tinged her voice. "Look, that stuff doesn't matter anymore, Malfoy. I've grown up. Now, will you just get up there before Dumbledore comes down here himself?"

"Sure," Draco said, dragging his feet along the floor. He got a few looks from the Ravenclaw table as he passed and leered at Potter. "Good morning, Headmaster. Potter." Draco scrutinized his pinched face, shadows marring the ashen skin beneath his eyes. His mop of dark hair messily flopped onto his forehead, and his black robes hung loosely around his gaunt figure. "God, Potter, what have you done to yourself? You look like a bloody ghost. Sorry, professor." He glanced at Dumbledore with a mock apologetic look.

"Quite fine, Mr. Malfoy," the Headmaster said grimly. "I wanted to ask you whether this afternoon would be a good time to…meet the troops." He smiled sadly as he clapped his gnarled hands together. "I daresay an adequate few signed up in only one day."

Draco folded his arms, breathing deeply. "It's fine," he muttered. He wasn't too eager to work with a bunch of fools, willing to risk their lives against Death Eaters. Especially _Muggle-loving_ fools. "What time, professor?"

"At three, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, his sapphire eyes twinkling.

Draco, unnerved, whirled around, walking swiftly back to his cold plate of eggs. "So, I suppose you did it to spite your father again? Just do it for one day and leave them all to die?" Zabini's voice asked loudly as he sat down beside Crabbe.

"Shut up, Zabini," Draco snapped, his gray eyes flashing dangerously. Blaise twisted with rage, his fists clenched on the table. "You know nothing about me so don't start being my mother. Shove off and mind your own business. I don't even know why I told you."

"Well, you need someone to set you right because obviously your damn mother isn't!" Blaise yelled, attracting several stares from various tables. He jumped to his feet, his face turning steadily red with anger. He immediately regretted his words as Draco's eyes glistened and his face hardened quickly, shielding the overwhelming wave of emotions drowning him.

"Shut up, Zabini," he retorted lamely. Crabbe and Goyle blinked up at him with eggs on their lips, furrowing their brows in confusion. He stood up, his feet pacing along the floor, hurrying toward the castle doors. He threw them open, the chilling winter bite gnawing at his skin. Draco wrapped his arms around himself, his eyes screwed tight, swallowing the nagging sob in his throat.

"To show emotion is to be weak. Are you weak, Draco? A helpless, pitiful boy?" Lucius hissed in ear. "Malfoys do not cry. We are strong. We are powerful. You put our name to shame, boy. Stop cryingDraco shivered, staring steadily at the shimmering, frozen lake. He wiped his face with his sleeve fiercely, scratching at his stinging face.

"You really shouldn't stand out in the cold…especially without a cloak." Draco snarled impatiently, whirling around, screwing his face in rage.

"Haven't you said enough Zab--" His mouth gaped, startled at the small redhead. "Weasley…what are you doing here? It's not safe." He squeezed his arms tightly to his chest, his heart pounding quickly against his hands. Her compelling eyes peered into his own with unmistakable worry reflected in the brown orbs. _We do not associate with inferiors._

"You just bolted out of the room. It's not like anyone didn't hear your argument," she replied dryly. "You weren't exactly…_quiet _about it, Malfoy." Ginny ran her fingers through her glossy locks, tugging at the tangles cautiously.

"Why did you follow me?" Draco asked sharply, voicing his curiosity. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly, adapting the habit of a familiar Weasel. He immediately dropped his hand to his side limply, shaking his head in despair.

The Weasley sighed heavily, mumbling to herself. "Because," she finally said in a rather pained voice, "you just left. I mean, wouldn't someone follow you to see if you were okay?"

"_No_," Draco said bitterly. "You don't care about me. No one does." He kicked the snow, his shoes dampened with the melted flakes.

"Well, if you weren't such a ba…jerk," Ginny corrected herself in time. Draco smirked slightly, despite himself.

"You got some mouth, Weasley," he admired. "Never knew you had it in you." _Take great care not to tarnish our family name._

"Didn't know much about me in the first place, Malfoy," she said curtly. "Now, can we come in please? If you don't, I will drag you…" Ginny fingered her wand in her pocket threateningly, her eyes flashing. Draco momentarily realized his fingers turned blue, and his teeth chattered loudly.

"No need, Weasel," he said coolly, his feet crunching underneath the snow. "C'mon, I don't want your death to be my responsibility."

Ginny snorted. "Unlikely." Nonetheless, she followed fervently at his heels into the warmth of the entrance hall, her face glowing. She awkwardly hovered near Draco, her ponytail bobbing up and down as she teetered on the balls of her heels. "Well…I'll see you this afternoon… You know being a commander and all." A hesitant look crossed her face as she studied him warily. She diverted her eyes to the floor, rubbing her weathered trainer against the marble.

"You might need to buy new shoes," Draco scoffed with an abrupt malevolence. "Those seem to be a little…_worn_." He clicked his tongue at the peeling sole on her right foot. "But your father…he hasn't gotten a raise, has he? How many nights has he stayed in the office for hours, earning that one precious Galleon? Might as well snap his wand in half and join the Muggles. Wouldn't you agree? He would fit in with his flying car."

Weasley's face toughened, staring into his gray eyes stonily. "My father works hard to provide us with materials," she said coldly. "He never sleeps and eats until he knows he has an adequate supply of money for us. He loves us. I don't know what life you live…you probably get everything with a snap of a finger. But your parents--they don't love you, do they? They don't give a _damn _about you. They don't starve for you, they don't work for you, they don't sacrifice anything for you." She turned around, flying into the Great Hall, strands of fire slipping out from behind her ear.

Nonplussed, Draco stared after her. His parents _loved _him. Weasel didn't know anything about him. Zabini didn't know anything about him. No one understood him. No one. Maybe even _he _didn't understand himself.

"What is love? Love is nothing to power," he whispered fiercely. "Power is everything." He nodded with satisfaction, winding his way down into the cold dungeons to ponder on his whirlwind of thoughts in his jumbled head.


	3. Covering It with Lies

**__**

Summary: Their innocence. Their blood. Their lives. The war did not spare any. It changed their outlook toward life and others and helped them find courage in their hearts. D/G

Disclaimer: I don't own anything…except the PLOT!

Sacrifice

Miss Skeeter

__

Chapter Three

Covering It with Lies

"Zabini?"

His hoarse, cracked voice shattered the quiet of the common room unpleasantly, hovering in his ears. He fiddled with his fingers nervously, masking the evident anxiety on his pale face. Blaise tapped his fingers impatiently on his Transfiguration book, eyes narrowed harshly. "What?" he snarled irritably.

Draco frowned, squirming uncomfortably in his chair. Blaise Zabini was the only boy in Slytherin he counted as a friend, and Draco _hated _conflicts with the usually jovial fellow. "Can you pass me my Charms book and tell me what the time is?" he asked casually, his eyes fixed steadily on Zabini. Blaise pushed the glossy book roughly across the table to Draco and lifted his head, gazing at the clock on the wall. Snakes intertwined on its edges, their ruby eyes glittering eerily.

"Three, can't you read?" he snapped. He then began scribbling a few words on his roll of parchment.

Draco racked around his mind, searching for the certain event at three. "_God_, Malfoy! We're late for the training!" Blaise yelped suddenly. He then glowered coolly at Draco. "If you're going, that is."

"I am, Zabini," Draco said defiantly. "Let's go." He jumped to his feet swiftly, his legs pumping up and down struggling to race against time. Blaise followed at his heels, panting heavily as they scrambled up the steps, emerging into the entrance hall. Draco paused, pondering on where the meeting was held.

"It's in the Room of Requirement," offered Blaise impatiently. He shoved past Draco angrily, his feet stomping on the cold marble floor. "Follow me, Malfoy."

"Arse," Draco uttered furiously, his voice carrying to Zabini's ears. He smiled with satisfaction as Blaise's back tensed. "Bloody idiot." Blaise's neck reddened, and his fists clenched tightly. Draco smiled with amusement, tailing Zabini as his pace quickened.

Their footfalls echoed in the deathly silent corridors, a sullen atmosphere hovering above them. Draco cautiously gripped his wand in his pocket, his heart beating quickly in his heart. He sidled beside Blaise, his gray eyes roaming the castle walls, drinking in every flickering shadow and sunbeam filtered on the floor. He skidded to a halt as he briefly spotted Zabini twisting a doorknob open.

"Malfoy, get your scrawny arse over here," he said loudly, pushing the door. A chorus of laughter poured from the slowly widening crack in the door, unveiling a sea of faces blinking at Blaise and Draco.

Pink tinged his cheeks as he slipped into the room, bathed with the flickering fire from the hearth. The stone walls stretched for miles, accommodating the crowds of sixth and seventh years easily with yards to spare. Draco stepped toward Potter standing upon a podium with a glare on his gaunt face. He stumbled slightly, staring down at the many cushions littering the floor.

"You're late, ferret boy." Draco smirked at Ron Weasley with his sister hovering closely behind him. "Afraid to show your arse?"

"Why would I?" he sneered. _We do not associate with inferiors. _"Unlike you, Weasel, I'm not ashamed of myself. I understand that you are embarrassed of your dumpy mother…and honestly, why show your face when all you have is rags as robes?" His smirk widened at the memory of his frilly, maroon dress robes.

"I don't think so," her voice piped up. He stared at her marvelous, freckled face, his mouth hanging slightly open. Blazing red tendrils framed her face, and she donned a casual pair of worn jeans, boasting her stunning curves. Her voice itself dripped with honey and glazed with splendor. He blushed slightly, pursing his mouth closed.

"_You _should be ashamed," Ginny said with renewed vigor. "You're jealous because you have no family. Your parents don't love you. Your father is in Azkaban and your mummy doesn't care about you, isn't that right?" A hushed silence fell, following her ruthless words. An intense flame flickered in her brown eyes as they locked with Draco's cool gray ones.

Draco swallowed, his throat contracting tightly. "Y-you said that already, Weasel," he choked out, his eyes burning.

Her large orbs examined him, a tint of guilt seeping into them. Or perhaps, fury? Draco shook it off, abruptly shoving past the Weasleys, joining Potter on the dais. He inclined his head slightly to Potter, his lips set in a taut, grim line.

"Malfoy," Potter said nodding in acknowledgement. "Since you're a bit late, let me fill you in." Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You're to train the sixth years. I'm training the seventh. We were about to divide up into the two troops, one on the left side and the other on the right. The room is large enough for space to practice dueling. Got that or do you need me to go slower? I know you might not comprehend it as much."

Draco regarded him condescendingly. "I understand very clearly, Potter," he said slowly, "just stay off my turf and it'll be fine." The huddle of students grumbled as they untangled, marching to their designated area.

"Don't count on him staying, Potter," Blaise's voice said raucously.

Anger brewed in the pits of his stomach. "Hey, Zabini!" he snarled hastily. "I'm staying in this army, and this isn't about me anymore. It's about You-Know-Who." He smirked at Blaise's stunned expression. It was all a lie, of course, to spite Blaise _and _his father. Draco embedded his guilt deep inside of him, burying it with his harsh façade. He strode toward his group, drinking in their glum faces.

"Stand up straight!" he barked suddenly. Startled, the troop straightened their shoulders, a few glaring nastily at him, Ginny Weasley among them. "I am your commander as of now. We will start by practicing our aiming." He conjured a few targets, digging up a few charms from the corners of his mind. "Line up!" The sixth years lingered in their places, gawking blankly at Draco. "I _said _LINE UP!"

They immediately formed three lines before the target, their wands clutched in their hands. "Aim any curse at the targets and try to hit the centers. If you miss, go to the back of the line and keep trying until you hit the center. If you succeed, join me at the side. GO!" A flurry of curses sprung off the walls and shot through the outer rims of the target. The three dejectedly slumped to the back of the line. "GO!" A green beam pierced through the center perfectly while the others rocketed about the room, narrowly missing Draco's head.

"Ah, Weasel," he said identifying the caster. He stood before her, towering down her thin figure. "Why don't you do that again?" Ginny pointed her wand easily at the target, her spell blasting through the center again. "Again." She succeeded. "Why don't you do it faster? A good soldier can cast several spells in a minute." Weasley smiled coolly at him before flourishing her wand. Draco leaned close to her ear. "Faster. Faster. Faster. FASTER!" Rather flustered, Ginny glared up at him, shooting another curse. "FASTER! FASTER! FASTER!" Her spell keeled to the side, veering off target by a few feet.

Draco glared at her. "You aren't ready," he said harshly. "Keep practicing." Ginny glowered at him, narrowing her eyes. "And don't give me attitude." She stomped to the back of the line, allowing the next group to flick their wands at the targets.

By the end of the hour, Draco trained the troop into frustration. His constant voice spat in their ears as they struggled to concentrate on aiming for the target. None managed to pass his tests and join him at the side to relax. They all slumped to the back again dejectedly with infuriation. Draco followed their gaze to Potter's troop that eagerly reviewed a few simple curses, in his opinion.

The army trudged out of the Room of Requirement as Potter announced the end of the training. "Malfoy, you were too hard," he said as they flooded out of the door. "You should've taught them a few new spells instead of yelling at them." He frowned deeply.

"Potter, you fought in that battle," Draco growled. "You know what it's like. I'm preparing them for a real battle. Do you think they can concentrate on their targets in all that noise? Dumbledore isn't always going to be there to save their skin."

He glanced at Ginny who watched them curiously. Her face crumpled into a fierce look as her eyes landed on his face. She quickly walked out of the room. A sudden impulse drove Draco to follow her, his hand grabbing her wrist to stop her. Tingles ran through his fingertips, causing him to shudder. "Get off, Malfoy!" she snarled maliciously. He dropped her arm, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

"Look," he said, breathing heavily, "I want to say something." She looked up at him expectantly, her striking eyelashes fluttering as she blinked. An awkward hush floated in the air as Draco gaped at Ginny. His hand twitched as it yearned to touch her soft skin again. "I'm…sor--" _We do not associate with inferiors. _He closed his mouth. "I'll see you at the next meeting…"

"_Okay_," Ginny said raising an eyebrow. She whirled around, her feet carrying her slowly down the corridor. She started to turn the corner when she turned her head toward Draco. "Um…hey, Malfoy, I'm sorry about those things I said earlier."

"Yeah, I am, too," Draco said immediately, blushing. She gave him a dazzling smile before disappearing behind the wall. _Malfoys do not associate with inferiors. _He groaned to himself. How did a Weasley drive him to make a fool out of himself? What charm did Ginny Weasley on him? _Nothing_. Or maybe something.


End file.
